Warriors: Silverjaw's Sorrow

Chapter Sixteen

 The river hadn't risen much since she'd left for her assessment, but Silverpaw felt worry gnaw at her chest as she splashed through shallow water up until the camp entrance. The camp guard, Aspentail, smiled uneasily at her from inside, and the apprentice noticed an unusual buzz of activity within the rain-soaked clearing.

"What are we supposed to do if the territory floods and we have rogues waiting beyond our borders?" Crowspots hissed, a surprising amount of hostility lacing her tone.

"The camp won't flood," Pinestar reassured calmly. "And if it does, we have enough cats to fend off any perpetrators beyond our border."

Lightfern's yellow eyes shone anxiously. "But isn't it wrong to chase cats off the land they've been living on?"

Quietoak flattened her ears, looking at the younger she-cat with wide eyes. "You don't pity them, do you?"

Lightfern fluffed out her chest. "They may have trespassed, but Silverpaw could've been lying about what they did." She glanced towards the camp entrance where the apprentice stood frozen, and she bared her teeth. "We've all heard what Lionpoppy says. Who better knows a cat than their own mother?"

A murmur spread through the clearing. Most of the Clan had gathered near the outskirts, having taken shelter from the storm while they curiously listened in on the argument. Silverpaw felt dread pool in her belly. Just how many of her own Clanmates believed her to have directly murdered her brother? The mere idea brought the faint, acrid tang of bile to the back of her tongue.

"That's enough of this nonsense." Wishfern emerged from her den, her feathery white fur weighed down by rain, her amber eyes sharp. "All of you, let Pinestar be with your hypotheticals. If an evacuation is needed, he will evacuate us. I'll make sure of it." Her gaze swept her Clan. "And you'd best forget your gossip about Silverpaw, as you should have moons ago. I treated her injuries, and I saw the fur beneath her claws. None of it belonged to her brother."

Lionpoppy growled from the shadows of the warrior's den, backing swiftly into the darkness. No other voices dared to protest Wishfern's authority.

Whisking his tail, Pinestar slipped into his den without further comment. The Clan gradually dispersed, but Silverpaw couldn't avoid the scrutinizing gazes of skeptics. She awkwardly made her way to the fresh-kill pile, depositing her mice, before stepping away with an uncertain weight to her steps.

"Look at that!" Mistpaw mrrow'ed, darting up beside her. "Three mice. Think that'll be enough to pass?"

Silverpaw grimaced. "I sure hope so. This weather didn't make it easy."

Toadpaw rolled his eyes. "I'm certain it's enough. Quit stressing her, Mistpaw."

Indignantly, the dark apprentice puffed out her chest. "I'm not stressing her!" More meekly, she glanced at Silverpaw. "Am I?"

Silverpaw shook her head.

"See?" Mistpaw stuck her tongue out. Toadpaw shoved her in response.

"Think we have time to eat something?" Toadpaw asked, pushing his sister away as she tried batting him over the head.

"I'm not sure if I'd be able to stomach anything while I wait," Silverpaw chuckled, her tail flicking uncomfortably. Though she hadn't eaten all day, it was true. Nerves rattled relentlessly in her stomach.

"We wouldn't have the time to, anyways. Look!" Mistpaw, having forgotten her feeble assault, angled her ears towards the leader's den.

Silverpaw followed her gaze, her heart stopping in her throat as Honeywhisker, Salmonskip, and Pinestar all emerged from between the roots of the sprawling willow tree. Honeywhisker slipped away to the outskirts of the clearing, joining Minnowstripe where she lounged beneath some ferns, while Salmonskip briefly caught Silverpaw's eye.